  CHILD-thoughts, child-thoughts, come back again! Faint, fitful, as you used to be; The dusty chambers of my brain Have need of your fair company, As when my child-head reached the height Of the wild rose-bush at the door, And all of heaven and its delight Bloomed in the flow’rs the old bush bore. Come back, sweet long-departed year, When, sitting in a hollow oak, I heard the sheep bells far and clear, I heard a voice that silent spoke, And felt in both a vague appeal, And both were mingled in my dreams With leaves that viewless breezes feel, And skies clear mirrored in the streams. Child-heart, child-thoughts, come back again! Bring back the tall grass at my cheek, The grief more swift than summer rain, The joy that knew no words to speak. That strives to reach my hands in vain, The love that never could grow cold— Child-heart, child-thoughts, come back again! |
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